little river

“A river cuts through rock, not because of its power
but because of its persistence.”—Jim Watkins

little river,
gentle giver
of sweet, cool, refreshing springs;
at the dawning
of each morning,
as the sky new sunlight brings,
down you come from off your mountain.
o sweet, cool, refreshing fountain,
little river,
gentle giver
of a thousand lovely things!

crayfish swimming,
mullets skimming
in your sparkling silver spray;
children wading,
ducks parading,
butterflies come out to play;
for the morning brings a spirit
of good cheer o’erflowing in it,
and the laughter,
coming after,
sweeps the gray clouds all away.

as the magic
of your music
orchestrates its rocky path,
so before us
hums the chorus
of your soothing bubble bath;
as i stand here keenly listening,
i can hear the wild grass whistling
lullabies, soft
melodies, oft
buried in the aftermath.

every secret
(i can keep it!)
you can tell me of your cares:
does a river
worry ever,
are your quiet waters…tears?
do you dread the confrontation
when you leap into the ocean?
does the deep blue
ever keep you
from confronting all your fears?

when the rain comes,
all the drip drums
shall inspire your dancing feet.
watch your troubles
burst like bubbles,
as you tango to the beat;
then, one lovely, quiet evening,
you'll find no more need for grieving,
for the motion
of the ocean
shall your journey mark…complete.

© Copyright 2023 April 30
by Clyve A. Bowen♫